


On Display

by Batsutousai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Claiming, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 17:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15224651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: Turns out Harry's got a bit of an exhibitionism kink. Unfortunately (for someone), Voldemort's both happy to play along, and has plenty of servants to serve as an audience.





	On Display

**Author's Note:**

> I don't _really_ blame this on the Tomarry discord's current porn challenge, but that was definitely the reason I finished it instead of dragging it out like I seem to do any more when it comes to writing smut.
> 
> Fair warning, not actually had a second read, and I was maybe falling asleep a bit during the last 100 words or so, so there might be some minor fuck-ups. I'll fix them eventually. (Or not, who knows.) 
> 
> You can also read this at [Dreamwidth](https://batsutousai.dreamwidth.org/393396.html) or [LiveJournal](https://batsutousai.livejournal.com/394929.html).

The first time they almost got caught, Harry getting a little too handsy when he hunted Voldemort down in the manor, because it had been almost a month since they'd seen each other in person (because dreams didn't count, at least, not so far as Harry was concerned), it had been an accident.

But the _thrill_ from that near-miss had been on par with winning a quidditch match, and Harry was nothing if not a thrill seeker. That it was something he could do _with_ Voldemort, rather than something his...whatever they were to each other – Voldemort refused to let Harry label them, claiming that would make Harry a target; privately, Harry had always assumed the dark lord was just afraid of admitting the truth to himself – barely tolerated, was just the icing atop the very attractive cake.

Of course, because Voldemort had been in his head since long before they'd realised Harry was a horcrux, it didn't take long for the dark lord to cotton on to the fact that Harry was engineering near misses.

"Are you _looking_ to be caught, pet?" Voldemort asked after the Death Eater who had interrupted Harry giving him head had left, peering down at where Harry was hiding under his desk with too-sharp red eyes.

Harry swallowed and ducked his head, embarrassed. But, since there was no use in hiding the truth, he admitted, "Maybe."

Voldemort pushed his chair back, then drew Harry up into his lap, close enough their chest touched when one of them took a breath. Voldemort leant in, breathing hot against Harry's ear, and murmured, "Deviant," right before Harry's slightly too tight trousers vanished.

Harry couldn't quite stop a whimper, feeling a little too warm. "You love it," he managed to get out, because Voldemort had made no secret about how much he enjoyed finding new ways to simultaneously embarrass and turn Harry on.

Long fingers wrapped around Harry's cock, holding it tight with Voldemort's own cock, and Harry couldn't stop a moan, couldn't quite keep from bucking into the much-needed contact. "How much do you want, pet?" Voldemort asked as his thumb slid over their heads, teasing and smearing precum over both of them. "Is it just the near-miss, drawing apart as soon as someone's too close? Or do you want me to fuck you behind my desk while listening to a report?"

Harry gasped, grabbing tight for Voldemort's shoulders as heat shot through him, so much more than should be from just a handjob, even a handjob delivered by the dark lord.

"You'll never be quiet enough they won't hear you," Voldemort added, a dark sort of glee in his voice, and Harry hid his too-hot face against the crook of his neck, moaning against rough skin. "Everyone will know so very soon after that I had you, that you were whimpering for more as you clawed at the underside of my desk."

"P-plea-se," Harry gasped, not even sure what he was asking for. More friction, because Voldemort's hand was torturously slow around them both, or the reality of the fantasy being whispered into the shell of his ear.

"Ah, but what if they think that means you're a whore, free to use?" Voldemort murmured.

" _No_ ," Harry insisted, half to head off that line of thought before the dark lord angered himself into a possessive rage, half because that was very much not an attractive thought to him. (No matter Voldemort's hang-ups about the matter, they were absolutely in a monogamous relationship with each other, and neither of them were inclined to sharing.)

"Yes, we mustn't let them think such," Voldemort agreed, even as his hand sped up between them, the roughness of his skin dragging against Harry's cock in a way that could have been painful, but really just felt _perfect_. "Perhaps a more obvious show?"

"A more–?" Harry started to ask before the scene popped into his head, either passed to him by Voldemort or of his own imagining: Voldemort buggering him in the ballroom, where anyone could walk in and watch as the dark lord claimed what was _his_.

Harry bit Voldemort's shoulder to keep from screaming as his orgasm rushed through him, so much stronger than he should have expected.

Voldemort chuckled, low and full of a terrible promise. "Well then," he said, and finished on Harry's stomach.

-0-

If there was one thing that could be said about Voldemort, it was that he never left one waiting long for his plans to unfold, especially if those plans would serve to delight Voldemort himself, prove he was the strongest or nastiest wizard around, or embarrass someone else. And having Harry in front of all the Death Eaters? Well, that would almost certainly serve to be a little bit of all of the above.

Which was probably how Harry found himself sitting in Voldemort's lap, naked save for his invisibility cloak and desperate to come, during what was probably the largest Death Eater meeting since Voldemort had won the war.

Full disclosure, as hot as the thought of getting buggered in front of Voldemort's minions made him, Harry honestly hadn't had any intention of going through with things, and certainly not in such a way that he'd have time to second guess himself while waiting for the crowd to fill out. But, as Voldemort had been the mastermind, he hadn't been given a choice. 

There he'd been, innocently spread over the dark lord's desk, waiting a bit impatiently as Voldemort performed one of his favourite pastimes of slowly working Harry open while he cursed and begged him to bloody well _speed up_ , when a massive plug had been shoved inside him, instead of Voldemort's cock, and magic had tightened around his cock.

"Now, my pet," Voldemort had breathed into his ear, the fabric of his heavy robes draping around Harry's naked form, "you'll do _exactly_ as I say if you want to come, won't you?"

"Hateyousomuch," had been Harry's somewhat breathless response. Which, between them, was practically a very loud, very firm _YES_ , just a little bit disguised behind a veneer of hatred for the sake of familiarity. (Also, because Voldemort was an arsehole, and Harry oftentimes rued the choices that led him to sleeping with him instead of killing him.)

Voldemort had laughed, low and just the slightest bit evil in that way that sent shivers down Harry's spine, then drew away and ordered, "Put on your invisibility cloak – _only_ that – and follow me."

So, yes: all but naked, check; cock weeping precum and unable to come, check; massive plug filling his arse, check; sitting in his whatever-they-were's lap, check; room full of potential witnesses to his depravity, check again. It was nearabout the exact image that had finished him off the last time he'd seen Voldemort, but with a bit more embarrassment.

(If Harry survived this without self-destructing of embarrassment, he was going to have to design some sort of punishment for Voldemort. Buggering him, maybe, like he'd been half-threatening to do for so long, he was fair certain Voldemort had decided he wasn't actually serious about it. More the fool.)

"This meeting," Voldemort announced, his voice icy with restrained violence, which Harry absolutely did _not_ find hit, "is to remind you all that Harry Potter is not to be touched."

Some of the Death Eaters shifted, like they had maybe needed that reminder. Which was both a little alarming and potentially hysterical. Though the latter could just be because of the situation.

"He is _mine_ ," Voldemort snarled, right before yanking off the invisibility cloak.

Harry's initial reaction was to duck his head down to his knees, hide himself as much as he could, but Voldemort had clearly expected that, because he caught a hand under his chin and forced him to keep looking up and straight ahead, hissing, _"Let them see you, pet. Show them you belong here, above them."_

Harry suspected he was nearing the colour of the Gryffindor banner, but if there was one thing he was good at, it was showing Death Eaters he was better than them. So he made himself straighten and let his legs – which had been folded up on the edge of the throne in front of him, so they fit under the cloak – drop to the floor, spreading open a bit, like he wasn't embarrassed to be completely naked.

And, _oh_ , there was something just a little bit heady about knowing dozens of eyes were on him. Not unlike the moment he dove for the snitch, except somehow _more_ , with just a little hint of _wrong_. Heat thrummed through him, not helped the least by Voldemort trailing his hand down over the skin of his neck, fingers circling it like a promise of violence, before spreading out over his chest, the tips of his nails catching against Harry's nipple, and sliding down to rest low on his belly, teasingly close to his weeping cock.

_"Do you want to come, pet?"_ Voldemort hissed, the delicate twists of Parseltongue caressing the shell of his ear, and Harry tried very hard to keep from shuddering.

_"Yes,"_ he hissed back, forcing himself to keep looking forward, to not sink back against Voldemort's chest. Because he _wanted_ to, wanted to feel the familiar chill of not-quite-warm-enough, to let him soak up some of the embarrassed heat flooding him. Wanted Voldemort's arms around him, holding them so tightly together they could have been one; wanted his cock inside of him, carving out space for his spend; wanted to fucking _be coming_.

_"After I do,"_ Voldemort informed him, right before the plug vanished, followed by the familiar wash of a lubrication spell.

_Bastard_. Not that Harry had really expected much better from the dark lord.

Harry did know better than to fight him about it, especially in front of so many witnesses, though, so he shifted up, trying not to be too embarrassed about his completely shameless cock bobbing about, and reached back for– Oh, good, Voldemort was definitely interested, which made finding him quite a bit easier.

Harry smiled to himself a bit as he felt along the dark lord's cock, the rough sort of almost-dryness of it nearly as familiar as his own softer flesh; certainly familiar enough to wring a hiss out of Voldemort, the hand on his belly tensing like he wanted to pull Harry back, but was restraining himself. (Which was good, because Harry wasn't sure his balance could have held out against that.)

Determined to ruin Voldemort's control – serve him right – Harry took it slow sitting on the dark lord, taking in a little bit, then pulling off like he maybe didn't like the angle. Teased them both a bit by dragging Voldemort's tip around the edges of his hole, pressing it against his own taint for a quick little spark of pleasure, slicked some of the lubricant dripping from his anus down Voldemort's shaft, soothing away the dryness. Then he started to impale himself again, stopped a bit through and started to pull back off–

Voldemort's hand tensing on his belly was the only warning he got before his free hand came up, wrapped around Harry's throat – careful not to choke him, but tight enough to show he meant business – and pulled down. " _Harry_ ," Voldemort warned, low and full of dark promise.

Harry gave up on the teasing – he'd had his fun – and lowered himself down the rest of the way. It was an easy fit, after the plug, and Harry wanted to hate that, because he _liked_ feeling a little too full of the dark lord, but it was also nice not to have to go slow while he adjusted, especially since he already felt a bit too close.

Someone coughed, reminding Harry of their audience, and he felt the heat of embarrassment spreading through him, even as his cock jumped, further excited at the reminder that _they were being watched_.

Harry peeked out over their audience as he wiggled a bit in Voldemort's lap, biting back a gasp as the cock inside him shifted against that spot inside him, the one he called his 'inner sparkler' just to annoy Voldemort. Most of the Death Eaters were shifting a bit, clearly uncomfortable, which Harry rather delighted in. A couple looked like they were tenting their robes, which was maybe a little disturbing, and Harry sincerely hoped it was the act and not the participants they were getting hot about.

Still, a part of him took delight in the proof that he had power over the lot of them, the knowledge that, while he might have a bit of trouble looking most of them in the face, should he see them outside the manor, they would be _equally_ embarrassed.

Voldemort snapped up into him, a clear reminder to focus on _him_ instead of his followers, and Harry barely managed to bite back the gasp that had tried to escape.

_" **Louder** , my sweet,"_ Voldemort ordered, long fingers caressing Harry's throat. _"Burn your pretty little moans into their brains."_

And, _oh_ , the mental images that birthed – moaning in public and watching the Death Eaters' discomfort, warn them away when he caught Voldemort in the hallways of the manor, make them think he was giving Voldemort head behind his desk during meetings – arced heat through him, and Harry didn't bother trying to suppress that moan, let himself whimper a bit as he lifted himself a bit off the dark lord, gasped out a curse as he slipped back down, the slap of flesh loud in the room.

_Merlin_ , but it felt good, eyes raking over him, knowing they saw the way Voldemort's hands spread out over his belly, held loosely around his throat; a claiming and a threat. And Harry _loved_ that, knowing he belonged, that he was _wanted_. That, for the first time since they'd fallen in bed with one another, Voldemort wasn't _hiding him_.

Realisation sparked through him, sharp enough to cut through the haze of lust, and Harry honestly couldn't say if it was him or Voldemort who had really cottoned on.

And then Voldemort's hand left his throat, sliding down his clavicle, and tugged him back and a bit to the side. Just enough that Voldemort could lean in and bite down hard on the juncture between neck and shoulder.

The pain was completely unexpected – Voldemort must have broken the skin – and Harry couldn't quite choke back his scream. Still, Harry knew what it was meant as – a claiming that wouldn't be easy to cover up; permission to label them, to be honest about actually having a relationship – and that was...

Well, if Harry _could_ come, he probably would have, and he really sort of hated Voldemort for that.

Still, either his need was bleeding through their connection, or Voldemort was a lot closer than Harry had thought, because he left off his possessive hold of Harry's front and grabbed his hips, helping to move him just that little bit faster. And Harry, who was _so damn close_ , moved with him, a little less steady.

The moment Voldemort came, nails digging a little too hard into Harry's hips and profanities in Parseltongue hissed against the sweaty skin of his back, his spell completed, and Harry's orgasm finally crested, dragging him along into that beautiful empty headspace, where he could almost convince himself he was more than a sex object and horcrux to the dark lord.

The ballroom was empty when Harry finally got everything sorted out again, so he didn't bother trying to censor himself when he said, "I'm going to get you back for this."

Voldemort's chuckle was warm and low, sounded as sated as Harry felt. "I look forward to it," he said.

Harry was fairly certain he wasn't being taken seriously enough, so he said, "I'll start by referring to you as my boyfriend."

He probably deserved getting dumped on the floor.

.


End file.
